Best Hangover Ever
by EchoEveMorrow
Summary: My interpretation of Spencer's drunken night with Wren, and an alternate scene after she wakes up late for school. Spencer's POV.


**My friend wanted some Wrencer and I do aim to please. This will be my interpretation of the scene, then some non-cannon of my own creation. Enjoy.**

I don't exactly know what made me come back to his place with him. There are at least a dozen reasons I shouldn't be here, but I'm more than a few drinks past caring. I look over again at his crackling fire and think of how different my life, his life, all our lives would be had Wren and Melissa gotten married. She would have ruined him.

As I'm going over the many reasons all of the Hastings women should never get married, I'm interrupted by Wren coming down the stairs. Being as drunk as I am, whatever is on my mind literally comes out of my mouth.

"You really dodged a bullet not marrying my sister." I slur, pursing my lips as I lean, half sitting, on the back of his couch.

"I'm sure she'd be happy to hear that." He laughed, shuffling over toward me, his arms swinging by his sides.

"I'm serious," I started, leaning back on the couch only to push myself back up, dramatically. "My family is so screwed up," I walk slowly toward him, bringing my face within inches of his, "that Dr. Phil wouldn't even take us on." I finish, dancing around him. I feel so flirty and happy tonight, despite the depressing topic choice.

"Hey, my family has issues, too." He defends, a boyish smile covering his face. I really want to kiss him, but more than that… I want more booze.

"Oh, really?" I retort in a tone of mock disbelief and he nods slightly. I walk over to a table where I see more drink, clearly exactly what I need right now. "Like what?" I ask, genuinely curious, as I pop the cork and decide to continue mocking him anyway. "Did someone butter their bread with a steak knife?" The poor British accent even making me cringe.

I've passed the point of understanding body language and don't honestly know if he was offended by either my accent or implications of a perfect family life, but he quickly replies "Hey, just 'cause we don't play Hi-Lo at the dinner table doesn't mean we're not just as screwed up." I slink over, handing him a drink as well. "And for the record," he clinks glasses with me, "I'm looking and I can't find anything wrong." He concludes, looking me up and down with a slight smirk.

I laugh, taken slightly aback by his boldness as I begin circling him. "I am _plenty_ messed up."

"Enlighten me." He sounds honestly interested.

"For one," I begin, whipping my head around dramatically to look at him, "I have an obsessive need to be the best at everything. I even have to win at yoga." I end whispering to him. And he's quick to defend, "Alright, that's a quirk, not a fault, and I have plenty of those too."

I raise my eyebrows. "Like?" The smile evident in my voice, though I've ended up behind him again. I launch into a steady dance around him to a beat apparently only I can hear as he tries to follow me with his eyes.

"Like, um… I'm a touch what you call 'OCD'. Every book on my bookshelf has to be in alphabetical order or I can sleep." His face looks so young, his eyes wide and serious.

I can't help but mess with him as I look slowly toward the bookshelf and deadpan "Then what is Aristotle doing on the bottom row?" His head whips around and I can feel my face contort to immediate bemusement. I reach over and gently grab his chin to turn him back toward me, leaving my finger on the indent of his cheek, where a dimple would be.

"It's okay." My laugh amused while his is shyer. I can't stop staring at his lips. "Aristotle is exactly where his should be…" My voice trailing off as our faces get closer. His hand has ended up on my hip and I'm already turning my head opposite his to taste his lips.

I moan the second our lips connect. He tastes like brandy and something pure Wren. My free hand reaches up to the back of his neck to run briefly through his hair and I hear him moan into the kiss as well. I don't know how long we're standing there. Probably only a few seconds, but, to my drunk brain, it feels like a lifetime, though much too short a lifetime, I'm thinking when he pushes me away.

I know he wants me. Every part of me can feel it, but for some reason he won't let himself. I accept it, pulling away and circling him again. I lick my lips and give him more of what's inside my head. "I remember the first time I saw you." I press my front flush against his back, my lips touching the shell of his ear, as I commence the unbuttoning of his shirt. "And I just thought…'damn'." And we both start laughing as I continue, pushing my hand down his shirt and raking my nails lightly over his chest as I breathe onto his neck, "Just… damn."

His voice is serious, but I can hear the smile when he says my name. I continue running my hands through his hair, offering a croaked "Yesss?"

"You're pissed." he says, an evident laugh in his voice. What gave him that idea? I turn my head quickly over his shoulder in an attempt to look at his face while standing behind him, nearly shouting the word in question form directly into his ear. He pauses for a moment before replying, "Snockered." This I have to laugh at. Imitating his accent again, "I'm snockered."

"Drunk!" he shouted through a laugh and I burst into giggles.

"Totally." I giggle out the word as I'm sitting myself down onto the back of his couch again.

He turns back toward me as I exaggerate my words, "I. Am. Smashed." I try to kiss him, but he evades my lips and his face gets serious. He looks at me thoughtfully for a minute before some self-consciousness breaks through my inebriation.

"What? I thought you were really into me." My voice has turned somber and I'm starting to freak internally. He really doesn't give me time to worry, though, as he quickly tells he is, very much so, into me, but doesn't want to take advantage. If I could form a complete thought right now, I'd appreciate this much more. No one outside of my little square of girl friends has respected me like this and I realize something.

I want to be with him.

I grab his face gently, with a look of mild disinterest, before releasing him (again, dramatically) and begin falling down the front of the couch. His hands grab mine to stop me, but I thrust them playfully away with a quick "No" and land softly on my back as we both burst into giggles. I lay there like that for a few minutes before rolling to lie across the couch properly. I never noticed that he'd walked around and was already sitting on the edge.

He smiles at me, the boyish smile again, before standing to fetch me a blanket. The amount of alcohol I've consumed tonight finally occurs to me and I yawn, ignoring how cliché it feels. He unfolds it over the top of me and leans down to kiss my forehead. I feel my eyes closing before I sit up quickly, grabbing his arm to stop his retreat. I pull him down to me and give him one firm but soft hug; a thank you for the entire evening.

I needed this more than I'd realized. He grins sleepily and heads off to, I assume, his bed. I flop down onto my back and snuggle into his blanket, inhaling the scent of him that lingers in its fibers. I smile and nuzzle the blanket for just a second longer before everything fades.

000

The first thing I notice as I regain consciousness is the taste in my mouth. It's moderately unbearable. I need to properly hydrate before anything else. The second is the light pounding in my skull. I reach up to gently rub the space above my eyebrows when I hear something in the room next to me.

I yawn and stretch out my slightly cramped muscles before sighing and finally sitting up to see Wren greeting me happily in his scrubs. "You going to work?" I inquire curiously as I bounce onto my knees. I'd really like to spend more of today with him.

"Nope. Just finished my rounds." He says happily as flops down next to me. I smile slightly before something dawns on me.

"WHAT?" I launch myself toward my bag on the floor in search of my phone. "What time is it?"

"10:30." He replies loudly, confused.

My temporary euphoria has been shattered and I jump up from the couch, gathering my things, apologizing sadly, and choking myself with breath spray. "I never meant to impose on you." I assure, feeling guilty that I don't remember.

"You weren't imposing." He says, full of meaning and implications I'm not sure I want to acknowledge at this time.

"I'm sure I said or did something stupid." I reply ruefully.

He refuses to let me feel bad about whatever happened last night. "Other than a bit of drool on my favorite pillow, you were fine." I turn to look at him and see nothing but sincerity in his eyes. "You're welcome to stay on my couch anytime." I cannot believe the kindness of this man. I break eye contact as I continue packing, refusing to listen to the internal protests telling me to stay with him. I won't ruin this mood, though. I'll give him something.

I finish zipping my bag before turning to say, "Judging from the way things are going at home, I might actually take you up on that." My sentence ends in a whisper as our eyes meet again. He's the sweetest person I've ever met and I can't help but smile widely and he just continues to stare, almost in awe.

"I hope you do." He starts leaning closer to me and I don't even pretend I want to stop him. His hand reaches the back of my neck and tangles in my hair as he kisses me passionately. Bits from last night come flashing back and I remember how I wanted him; the memories enough to bring the feeling back tenfold. I bring my hand up to his face, needing to feel his skin, but it's not enough.

I attempt to push him down on the couch by his chest and he lets me at first, but, before his back hits the cushions, he effortlessly pulls himself out from under me and pushes me up into a sitting position, kissing me one last time. "I'll call you." I whisper, my voice husky from blatant arousal. I go to stand and he releases my hand, smiling happily. I tuck stray hair behind my ear and grab my bag. If I don't go now, I won't.

As I head for the door, I notice he's followed me. He grabs my forearm hard and jerks me back toward him. I drop my bag as our mouths collide. He moans instantly into the kiss and my hands head up the back of his shirt, raking my nails up his spine. The sound of his hard breathing fills my ears and I pull away just long enough to rip the shirt up and over his head before crushing our lips back together.

He nips lightly at my bottom lip and my left hand immediately discontinues the rough scratching of his back to tangle in his hair as I gasp loudly into his mouth and lead him back to the couch.

I feel the armrest hit the back of my knee and he pushes me down, crawling quickly atop me. My shirt is up past my ribs and my skirt is at my hips, the cool leather coming in contact with most of my body doing nothing to stop the heat that's currently spreading throughout my lower abdomen.

He slowly lowers himself onto me and I lock my legs behind his back while he presses soft, lingering kisses to my neck. In this position, I can feel his erection pressing firmly into my hip. I shift my pelvis up so I can feel him better. He groans lowly and he shifts too, adjusting just enough that the next shift of his hips pushes his hardness into my clit. My eyes fly open like I've been shocked and I swallow hard, my breath catching in my throat as I struggle to take in air.

He extricates his face from my neck and presses a wet, open-mouthed kiss to my lips. I run my tongue almost shyly over his bottom lip as I drag my hands down his back again, stopping just above the slight curve of his ass. Without hesitation, he opens his mouth to greet my tongue with his and it's my turn to move my hips; this time less of a shift and more of a roll. His moan is so low, it's almost a growl and I repeat my action. He arches his back, keeping our lips connected, enough to slip a hand between us and starts unbuttoning my shirt.

I push just the tips of my fingers into his pants, running them along the waistband, before pulling them back out to press my fingers firmly into the muscles in his lower back which are now straining against his skin, moving as his hips do.

'_Holy shit_' is all that comes to mind when his mouth trails from the corner of mine to my collarbone, where he starts steadily sucking. I will have a mark, and the thought of it only makes me enjoy this more.

Our hips have begun a steady rhythm and he's nearly panting against my neck as a continuous string of whimpers leave the back of my throat. I'm getting hoarse and I know we should stop, but the thought itself is nearly painful so I dig my nails into the soft skin of his shoulder blades and he stiffens against me, stopping all movement.

I lay there quietly, giving one last attempt at calming my breathing, and try not to focus on how much I miss his body moving with mine. He leans up, presses a quick kiss to my lips again, before pulling his body completely off of mine. My eyes are still closed, but I feel him shift over to the other end of the couch, not entirely leaving me.

Once my oxygen intake has regulated, I chance a peek out of one eye and see him curled up by the armrest, his head in his hands as he takes what appear to be calming breaths. I give him a minute to compose himself before I fix my clothes and scoot over to him. He doesn't move, though I know he felt it. I rest my head against his shoulder, straining my eyes to continue looking at him, and he finally lifts his head from his hands and I see he's smiling. My immense nervousness was instantly quashed and I threw myself at him, wrapping both arms around his shoulders and squeezing.

We sit for a minute before simultaneously bursting into laughter. "I guess you're not going to school?" he mentions through fits. I glance at the clock, wiping the beginnings of tears from my eyes, and shake my head upon seeing 12:08. Our laughter dies down and I stand to fetch his shirt. His eyes follow my form, raking up and down my body, and I pretend not to notice… even as I bend down in an exaggerated fashion before bursting out into raucous laughter again.

"So…" I begin, handing him his shirt.

"Let's have breakfast." He says sweetly, tossing his shirt back to the couch and smiling as he maneuvers to his kitchen, not needing me to say words. He understood. We want each other, but he'll wait until I'm ready. I smile hugely before doing the last few buttons of my shirt and shuffling contently to his kitchen.

I'm so glad Melissa stood me up last night. I smile again as the smell of French toast wafts throughout his kitchen and I watch him flip happily, shirtless and whistling.

Best hangover ever.

**I know my ending was lacking, but I couldn't think of anything better than a shirtless Wren cooking. So… please bare with it. Review, reread, and all that junk.**


End file.
